5.05.2008

And the acoustics were... amazing

I reported for duty the other day at a routine chair massage job. Despite the unpleasant surprise of a one hour drive each way (mmmm, increasing gas prices), I was in good spirits. Showed up early, greeted the job contact, and then was told they were short on private areas for the massages but the woman eagerly told me she’d come up with a solution. We rounded the corner and my steps slowed with dread as she assertively guided me towards a door, saying proudly “I think this will work just fine.”

I spent the next three hours in a tiny bathroom, door propped open to allow for some much-needed ventilation, stubbing my toes on the base of the toilet, with only a fax machine and copier for background music.

People, I tried, as a massage therapist, to be zen about the whole thing. I reached deep down for my sense of humor, less deep down for that bit that’s motivated by money, texted some friends to report the horror, and still ended up questioning whether this was a new low in my new-ish career, or just a one-off.

As I raced home to get to the gym with my brother I decided to take it as a life lesson, file the company name away in my head and just avoid another job there the next time it came up. Brother and I had a good workout, filled each other in on the events of our day so far, pounded out some of the aggravation, and headed down to the pool. Unfortunately when I met him poolside to prepare for some laps, it turned out he had forgotten to bring his suit with him.

“I can’t believe I did that. I SWEAR it was in my bag this morning,” he said in a small voice, and I could see him beginning to beat himself up about this minor mistake.

“No big deal,” I reassured him. As he turned around to go back into the locker room I walked over, patted him on the back, and added rather philosophically, “Hey, some days everything goes smoothly… other days you find yourself massaging next to the toilet.”